Saviour of Rome

XXVII

Valerius could almost feel the eyes on him as he made his way from Severus’s house to his lodgings. The wine he’d drunk at Severus’s dinner party had dulled his senses, but not so much that he wasn’t aware when he was being followed. Fortunately, the streets were busy with traders and their customers so the threat was slight as long as he kept to the main thoroughfares. He passed through the Forum, where work on the basilica continued, and drew a glance of irritation from the sniffy lawyer he’d met on the first day. As he approached the city gates he recognized a familiar, but surprising face among the customers sitting drinking beneath the awning outside a bar.

Petro, the loquacious trader he’d befriended aboard ship, looked up and gaped in surprise as Valerius’s shadow fell over him. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens!’ His features split into an enormous grin. ‘This rustic backwater is the last place I would have expected to find you. What brings you to Asturica?’

‘A social call.’ Valerius returned the infectious grin. ‘I’m here visiting a friend.’ It was close enough to the truth that he didn’t feel guilty deceiving the other man. ‘And I could ask the same of you.’

‘Oh, I must go wherever a man may turn a profit,’ Petro chuckled. ‘For all its lack of refinement Asturica Augusta has wealth in abundance and, strictly between us, trading with these country bumpkins is not so different from fleecing a new-born lamb.’ Valerius laughed and the other man moved to make a place beside him. ‘But come, old friends should not talk business. Slave,’ he called back over his shoulder, ‘bring me a new jug of that horse piss you call wine and another cup.’ Valerius protested that he’d had enough, but Petro winked. ‘It’s not too bad really, but I intend negotiating a discount.’

Valerius took a seat overlooking the street. Behind them four pots set into the top of a stone wall bubbled over a glowing fire, filling the air with the scent of herbs and cooking meat. A surly plump girl appeared and placed a jug of wine and a cup on the bench between them. As she turned, Petro gave her wide rump a slap. She swung round with a look of fury, but when she saw the broad grin on his face the look faded and she shook her head.

‘It will be the highlight of her day,’ the trader assured Valerius, ‘but we’ll make this the last one just in case. Salus.’

‘Health,’ Valerius returned the greeting. ‘How long have you been here?’

The merchant shifted his bulk to a more comfortable position. ‘I arrived two days ago. Fortunately, I picked up some bolts of fine cloth in Clunia for a bargain price from the wife of a recently deceased dressmaker. I’ve already made a decent return on my investment.’

‘And how do you find Asturica, apart from its rustic nature?’

Petro took his time before answering. ‘Much like any other frontier town. Full of possibilities, but keep your eyes open because when they smile into your face like as not they’ll be picking your purse. And tense.’ He gave Valerius a shrewd look. ‘Take those two auxiliaries in the shadow of the awning about twenty paces up the street.’

‘Yes?’

‘When they turned the corner they looked terribly concerned. Their eyes searched the street and when they fell on this bar they suddenly relaxed.’ He shrugged. ‘A trader learns to keep his wits about him and to read a man’s face or he won’t be a trader for long. They’ve been sitting there ever since, watching us. Tell me, is it me they’re interested in, or you?’

‘Does it matter?’

Petro grinned. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.’ He drained his cup and picked up the jug. ‘A pity to waste this.’ He stood up. ‘Wait a few moments before joining me inside.’ He disappeared through the doorway. Valerius took two more sips of wine and followed without a glance at the hovering auxiliaries.

Petro was waiting by an opening at the rear of the bar, where the slave girl stood to one side rubbing a silver coin between her fingers. ‘This way,’ the merchant said. They emerged into a living area. From there Petro led the way to a doorway out on to a street that ran parallel to the one where they’d been sitting. ‘I will not ask you why someone would be following you,’ he continued. ‘For me, it is natural. A man who travels for a living picks up news and gossip and will trade it for other pieces of news and gossip. It is not long before he has the word “spy” dogging his footsteps.’

Valerius nodded in understanding ‘A friend once told me: From Antioch to Alexandria every man is a spy and today’s friend is tomorrow’s deadly enemy.’

‘Wise words, lord,’ Petro said. ‘And you would do well to keep them in mind while you’re in Asturica. How long do you intend to stay?’

‘I’m not certain,’ Valerius admitted. ‘My time here hasn’t been as productive as I’d hoped.’

‘A pity to be away from your new wife for any longer than necessary.’ Petro smiled at his reaction before Valerius remembered he’d let slip the news of his recent marriage during the voyage. ‘And perhaps the pain of your long parting might be eased if you returned with a suitable gift.’

Valerius frowned. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘As it happens part of my haul in Clunia was a bolt of the finest Indian silk. I will sell you enough to manufacture a dress that will make your lady the envy of every other woman in Rome …’

‘I don’t …’

‘And at the same price I paid for it.’

They’d returned to a square near the city’s main gate and Valerius stopped to consider. Perhaps Petro was right? He remembered Tabitha glowing with pleasure as she’d studied lengths of cloth outside a dress shop in Apamea. ‘Which is your stall?’ He looked around for a likely candidate.

‘Not in the city.’ Petro looked at him as if he were mad. ‘These thieves would squeeze me until I didn’t make a sesterce of profit. Taxes? Only a fool pays taxes. No, my wares are outside the walls. Come, I will show you.’

Valerius followed him out of the gate past the disapproving glares of the tax officials. Petro flicked his fingers in an obscene gesture and laughed.

The merchant crossed the ground surprisingly swiftly for such a bulky man. He led the way through the avenue of tombs that lined the road into Asturica, before turning off into a wooded area. They followed a path through the trees to a clearing by a stream where Petro had set up his tent. An assistant, who must have been recruited since the trader arrived in Hispania, watched over wares set out on a portable table. Nearby a tethered horse and a string of mules stood nibbling at the long grass.

‘The silk is too valuable to leave on display in the sun.’ Petro ducked into the tent. ‘See,’ he held out a bolt of shimmering turquoise cloth, inviting Valerius to run his fingers across it.

A flicker in Petro’s eyes should have warned him. As Valerius bent to touch the cloth a rope whipped round his neck and a knee smashed into his back knocking the breath from him. Only the act of bowing his head saved him from being choked to death in those first few seconds. Instead of tightening on his throat the cord caught on his chin, pinning it back against his neck. As he struggled against the terrible force his assailant sawed the rope into his flesh and tried to find a position where he could get a killing grip.

Valerius ignored the burning pain and clawed at the rope with his left hand, flailing behind him with the wooden fist of his right. The blood roared in his ears, and he heard the sound of Petro’s mocking laughter. Something smashed into the back of his head and the assassin used the stunned heartbeat that followed to shift the position of the rope. Valerius cried out as he felt it tighten round his windpipe in a grip of iron. He couldn’t breathe. His vision began to go.

‘Remember to let him know he’s dying, Lucius,’ Petro ordered. ‘Our employer was most insistent about that.’

A momentary slackening allowed Valerius to gasp in a mouthful of air before the rope tightened again. No matter how he struggled it was impossible to reach the man behind him. He was going to die.

Without warning the rope slackened again. This time it was accompanied by a flood of something warm on the back of Valerius’s neck. He waited for a renewal of pressure, but it never came. Instead the cord fell away and he slumped forward clutching his throat and cawing like an angry crow. He looked up to see Petro standing with a look of horror on his face. The fat merchant turned to run, but before he’d gone two paces a knife hilt materialized in the centre of his back and he collapsed on his face with a cry of mortal agony.

A tall, dark-haired man strode past Valerius and plucked the knife from Petro’s spine, wiping the blade on the trader’s tunic. He nudged the body on to its back with his foot and ran the knife across his victim’s throat just to make sure. When he was satisfied, he returned to where Valerius lay still stunned. Without a word he lifted the Roman’s chin. Valerius waited for the sting of the knife, but eyes the colour of a gathering storm only studied him thoughtfully.

‘You’ll live,’ the man said eventually. ‘It’ll burn for a few days, but you should find someone in Asturica who can give you balm for it.’ He nodded over Valerius’s shoulder. ‘You were lucky he was told to make it slow or they’d have been burying you along with them.’

Valerius turned to see Petro’s servant lying on the ground with a pool of dark blood around his head and a ragged gash across his throat.

‘Who are you?’ He winced as he massaged his throat.

The tall man ignored the question. ‘For reasons I haven’t been told, it would have been inconvenient if you died today, but my employer says to tell you the reprieve is purely temporary.’ A cold smile flickered across the craggy features. ‘Who knows, it might be me who comes for you next time.’

‘Your employer?’ Valerius was utterly bemused.

‘If you want my advice,’ his rescuer continued as if Valerius hadn’t spoken, ‘you’ll get out of Asturica tonight. I saw two auxiliaries following you, but there was another, more dangerous by far. I knew he was there, but I could never mark him. I’m sure he’ll be watching us now, which means my work in Asturica is done.’

‘I can’t leave …’

‘Then you will surely die here.’